Hot Storage

by Mary Mead

  “A little after eleven.”

  While I was lying in bed eating warm muffins Steve Harris was being killed.

  “Do you know when it happened?”

  John set his mug on the coffee table. “Sometime this morning. I got the call and came right over.” He gave me a dark look. “I thought it was you. Scared the hell out of me.”

  “Me? I wasn’t even here.”

  “I know that now. The guy that called it in just said the manager was hurt.”

  “What could have happened? Steve couldn’t offend anyone with a three week head start.”

  “How long have you known him?”

  “I hired him. I didn’t like the woman that was here so I let her go and hired Steve.”

  “Anyone have a problem with him? Ever complain?”

  I shook my head. “Only about his talking.”

  “He talk a lot?”

  “Always. I had to warn him a couple of times.”

  “About talking?”

  “Yeah. He’d get bored in the office and lock it up to go out and visit with a customer. For a couple of hours at a time.”

  “That the only problem you had with him?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “You sure? Marlie I need anything you’ve got right now. Were there other problems with him?”

  “I got on him a couple of times for giving out too much information.”

  “In what way?”

  “My dad had a heart attack last year and I took off to see him. Steve told everyone that came in, to explain why he was in the office. A dozen customers sent me sympathy cards.”

  “No harm done,” he said. “Nothing else?”

  “Just the talking. He was the loneliest man I’ve ever known. He didn’t so much talk to you as at you. You know what I mean? He wanted an audience not a conversation. I think he talked to the plants.”

  “That’s common with the elderly. Nothing else?”

  “Not that I can think of. I had to warn him several times not to volunteer information unless he was asked. He’d start filling out a contract and the customer would ask if he was the owner and off he went, telling the history of the Murphy family from the time they got off the ark. If he didn’t know the answer he made one up.”

  “He lied?”

  I shrugged. “It wasn’t a deliberate lie, you know? He wanted to have something to say, to keep it going.”

  “Could he have made up a story?”

  “Any time,” I said. “I can’t think of a one that would get him killed.”

  “What kind of stories did he make up? Can you remember them?”

  I sighed and thought about it. “One I remember was him telling a customer my husband was killed in Afghanistan, a war hero.”

  “Harmless,” John said.

  “By itself, yes. The lady kept bringing me cookies and flowers ‘for my loss’. I didn’t ‘lose’ him – I divorced him.”

  “He was in Afghanistan?”

  “The closest he ever got to sand was Pismo Beach.”

  “Why did Steve say he was a war hero?”

  “Something to say. He had no reason. He just wanted to talk, to keep talking. I swear that man would talk himself to death.” I stopped, realizing what I said.

  “Is there a chance he told someone something that got him killed?”

  “I don’t know, John. Most of his stories were harmless exaggerations. Who knows what he told people? I know once he told Randy he was in the ‘newspaper’ business. Turned out he was a paper boy.”

  “Randy another customer?”

  “Um-hmm.”

  “Did Steve have a favorite customer?”

  “Only the slow ones.”

  John smiled and set the notebook down.

  “Who called it in? Do you have a name?”

  “I don’t, no. The station will have it. Why? Is it important?”

  “I have no idea. I wondered who it was, that’s all.”

  “I can get it,” John said.

  “Probably doesn’t matter. Just curious.”

  John checked the notebook, flipping pages for something.

  Suddenly there were shouts, loud voices. Someone was pounding up the stairs, then banging on the door.

  John moved like a huge cat, edging me out of the way to get there first. His gun was in his hand by the time he cracked the door open to look outside.

  Burke shoved hard, pushing John back a step and came in.

  “Are you all right?” He grabbed me and yanked me against his chest, his arms so tight I had difficulty catching my breath.

  “Let go, Burke,” I said, trying to get my arms between our bodies. “I can’t breathe.”

  Finally wedging a hand between us and shoving against his chest, he loosened his hold. Sliding his hands up to my shoulders he held me and looked into my face.

  John holstered his gun and took my elbow, tugging me away from Burke.

  “Come on, Marlie, sit back down and drink your coffee.” He guided me to the couch while Burke followed, running both hands through his hair. The blond locks stood on end. I saw his hands shaking when he brought them down.

  “That’s some entrance,” John said, once I was seated. “What’s all the uproar?”

  Burke literally fell back into the chair like a deflated balloon. His head dropped to the back of the chair and he closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath.

  “The call on the radio said the manager was shot and DOA. I thought it was Marlena.”

  A closer look showed him pale beneath his tan, like the tan had been badly sprayed on. As I watched the color came back much like one of my blushes.

  Burke leaned forward and reached for my hand. “Are you okay?”

  I was getting a little tired of that particular question.

  “I’m fine. I wasn’t here. It was Steve.”

  “The old man?”

  I nodded.

  Burke looked at John, who sat beside me holding his coffee cup. He might have come for tea from his demeanor as he watched Burke.

  Burke shook himself and sat up. “That scared the crap out of me. You have any more coffee?”

  “Kitchen,” I said. “I’ll get it.”

  “I will,” John said, standing. “You sit and try to relax.”

  While John went into the kitchen Burke squeezed my hand between his. “Are you okay? Were you hurt?”

  “I wasn’t here,” I said.

  “Where were you?”

  I looked at him. “Gone. What difference does it make? That kind, gentle man was killed. In the office. Minding his own business. He never hurt a soul in his life.”

  “Someone thought he did,” Burke said, letting go of my hand to take the cup John held out.

  “You think someone was after Steve?” John asked, sitting beside me again.

  “Had to be that or money,” Burke answered. “A robbery?”

  John shook his head. “Marlie hasn’t counted the money yet to see if any is missing. She doesn’t think there was more than a couple of hundred on hand.”

  Burke scrubbed his face with the hand not holding the cup before taking a sip and setting the cup on the coffee table. I noticed his hand shook a little.

  He took in a load of air and blew it out. “What happened?”

  John’s turn to shake his head. “That’s what we’re trying to figure out. What brings you here?”

  “I told you. The radio. Call said the manager was shot.” He looked at me with warm, dark eyes. “I thought it was you. My heart tried to beat its way out of my chest all the way here.”

  “Where were you?” John asked. Was I the only one noticing the interrogation?

  “On the freeway,” Burke replied. “Coming back from Paso.”

  “You live in Paso?”

  Burke shook his head again. “No, why?”

  “Just wondered,” John said. “Where do you live?”

  “I get it,” Burke said. “Okay, fair enough. I live in a motor home most of the time. It is
currently parked out back in Space 29. I was in Paso for my niece’s birthday party yesterday. I stayed over. I was coming home down the 101. Anything else?”

  “No, that’s good. You live in a motor home? No permanent residence?”

  Burked sighed. “Am I a person of interest? Is there some reason for these questions? Why aren’t you looking for the guy that did this?”

  “Was it a guy?”

  Burke picked up his cup with both hands and took a noisy drink. “I don’t know what your problem is. I told you where I was. Where were you?”

  John smiled at him. “I was home. I live in Monarch, just over the hill.”

  “Well, do you have any idea what happened?”

  John nodded. “I know what happened. I just don’t know why.”

  “You think maybe you could share?” Burke’s voice sounded tight. A little muscle in his jaw jumped.

  “Could,” John said and sipped coffee.

  “Damn it, man, what the hell happened?”

  John smiled the coldest smile I’d seen on a human. Looked like one of those cartoon snakes in a Disney movie. “Someone,” he said, stressing the word, “shot and killed Steve Harris in the office downstairs.”

  Burke snorted and sat back, closing his eyes. After a minute he opened them and looked at John. “Thanks, that’s a big help.”

  “Welcome.”

  When nothing else was forthcoming Burke looked at me, again reaching for my hand. “Are you sure you’re okay? Do you want to go to the hospital?”

  I tugged my hand free and picked up my own mug. “I wasn’t shot. I wasn’t even here. I’m upset and I’m mad as hell but I’m all right.”

  The three of us sat there then, no one saying anything, each in his own thoughts. I finally broke the silence getting to my feet. “Anyone want more coffee?”

  “I’ll take a refill,” John said.

  “I’ll take a beer,” Burke said.

  “No beer, Burke. I haven’t been to the store. I have Diet Coke or juice?”

  He shook his head. “That’s all right. I need to get home anyway. Get cleaned up.” He stood up and took his cup into the kitchen. When he came back he paused to give me a look. “How about dinner? Can I bring dinner by? You’re not going to feel like cooking.”

  I never felt like cooking but something perverse took control. “No, thanks. I’m gonna fix something later. Thanks for coming by.”

  He stepped in front of me and gathered me for a gentler hug. “Of course, Marlie. If you change your mind, you have my number. If I can do anything, give me a call. I’ll be in the back tonight.”

  I nodded. He kissed me on the cheek, stepped back and headed for the front door. “I’ll report to Miller, I have to see him anyway. Keep me in the loop,” he said to John. “I want to know what’s going on. This one is personal.”

  “Will do, chief,” John said and we watched Burke go out the front door.

  When he was gone we sat in the quiet for a while before John, too, stood up to leave. I followed him to the door where he turned to face me. “It’s going to be okay,” he said softly. “We’ll get whoever did this. You get some rest. If you need anything call me.”

  “Okay, and thanks. For everything.”

  “It’s my job,” he said, tipping my chin up to look into my eyes. “We’ll get him, honey.”

  I smiled at him and locked up behind him. I gathered cups and took them to the kitchen. I was surprised to see it was almost dark. The fog was coming in, thick curtains of mist blowing down the street in visible clouds, pulling the chill air along with it. It was a fitting end to the day.

  My mouth had that thick too much coffee taste and I sure wasn’t hungry. I brushed my teeth and went to bed early, saying a prayer for Steve to find a listener in heaven.

  The office remained closed on Monday. Since I couldn’t work I decided to go talk to Papa Murphy. He was normally at Kelly’s in the mornings, holding court with the other old timers. I hoped to catch him there.

  At Kelly’s I remembered to grab a cup on the way in. I paused and looked around, spotting Papa in the large booth on the right, just in front of the plate glass windows. Paul sat next to him, Randy and another elder across from him. I made my way over and waited to be acknowledged.

  “Agnes!” Mr. Murphy called every female, regardless of age, Agnes or Abigail. It saved him the embarrassment of forgetting a name and giving him time to figure it out. Sometimes he did it to show your ranking of importance to him.

  “This is Abner and Randy,” he said, introducing his companions.

  “I know Randy,” I said with a nod. “Good morning, Paul. It’s nice to meet you Abner.” I shook hands with Abner.

  “These old geezers are leaving,” Papa said with a tilt of his chin. Abner hurried to stand up while Randy took his time, sliding across the bench with his coffee cup.

  “When you gonna open up?” He asked as he got to his feet.

  “The lot’s open now. Only the office is closed. I have to wait till the police give me the go ahead before I can open the office.”

  “Where am I gonna pay my rent? I don’t want no late charge.”

  “I’m sure we’ll be open before the first. Don’t worry.”

  “All right then. No late charges.”

  “Not as long as you pay by the tenth,” I repeated for him, the hundredth time. He was one of those who waited until five minutes to close on the tenth to pay his rent, hanging onto the money as long as possible. Who knows why? He had the money in his account. Several times he had called just before closing that he was on his way and I had waited for him, giving him an additional half hour so he wouldn’t have to pay the late fee.

  “Fair enough,” he said and stood. “Sorry about the old guy.”

  I found that funny since Steve was five years younger than Randy and suppressed a grin. “Thank you, Randy. You have a nice day now.”

  “I can get to my shop?”

  “Yes. The gates are working. It’s just the office that’s temporarily closed.”

  With a last nod he ambled over to the counter where Abner was perched next to an empty stool. He took the seat but kept his eyes on us. I was pretty sure he could hear from there, too. It’s what made him such a good lookout at the facility.

  “I assume from that, you know about the incident at the facility,” I said when Randy was gone.

  “I heard about it,” Papa said, stirring sugar into his coffee. “Have you had breakfast?”

  “I’m good, thank you.”

  Papa shook his head. “No you’re not.” He stuck a hand up. The waitress waved and he put his hand down. “You women. I bet you didn’t eat last night and skipped breakfast. I always eat a good breakfast. Keeps me fit.”

  The waitress joined us, order pad in hand. “What can I get you, Papa?”

  “I’m good, Sally. This young lady needs the Farmhand, with a peach muffin. How do you want your eggs?”

  “Scrambled, please. And thank you.”

  The waitress called Sally looked at me for a long minute. “I’m sorry, dear. That must have been terrible for you. I’ll get this right in. Coffee?”

  “Please,” I said and wondered how she knew. A look from Papa sent her on her way. “How does she know? Does everyone know?”

  Paul nodded. “Small town,” he said. “On top of that, Sally knows everything. She’s like Google in sneakers. What can we do for you, Marlena?”

  “I wanted to tell you how sorry I am,” I said, looking at Papa.

  “Why? Did you shoot him?”

  I blinked. “No, sir. I didn’t.”

  “Then no need for you to apologize. How are you holding up? Is there anything we can do for you?”

  “No, sir. I wanted you to know I’m sorry it happened.” Why was I here? They obviously knew what happened, probably had more information than I did.

  Paul reached across the table to pat my hand where it rested beside my coffee. “We’re sorry, Marlena. Sorry this happened. I can only imagin
e how bad you feel. I hope we’re not going to lose you.”

  “Why would you lose me? This has nothing to do with me.”

  “Well, a single woman, living alone, over a murder scene. We would completely understand if you felt compelled to move.”

  “I hadn’t even thought of it,” I said, honestly.

  “The police came by yesterday afternoon,” Papa put in. “Do you have anything new? Anything this morning?”

  “No, sir. There was a van there this morning, when I left. The closed signs are up although the front door was standing open. I left them to it.”

  “Smart girl,” Paul said, a sincere look on his face. “We’re gonna close the office this week, give you some time off. With pay, of course. We’ll put a notice up so you don’t have to do a thing. When the police are through with the office, we’ll get it cleaned up.”

  “They took care of that,” I said. “I haven’t seen it but there was a hazmat truck there already. Detective Kincaid said they’d be thorough.”

  Paul shook his head. “Not enough. We’ll get the carpet replaced, get the office painted. What color would you like? No pink, though. Too girly.” He smiled at that.

  “No need really. The carpet, yes. It was, well, ruined. That needs to be done. I was going to ask about that.”

  “Ordered it this morning. A sand color. That will go with whatever color you want to paint the walls. Go over to the hardware store in Monarch. Greg’s. You know it?”

  “Yes, sir, I’ve bought things there before.”

  “Pick out a couple of gallons of paint, whatever you like and put it on the account.”

  “Do you know how long the office is going to be closed?”

  “Just a couple of days,” Papa Murphy put in. “Here’s Sally.”

  The waitress appeared at my side and put down a plate full of food – three strips of bacon, a slice of ham, and two sausage patties took up one side, scrambled eggs and home fries on the other. A separate small plate held a fat, golden muffin that smelled of ripe peaches.

  “Can I get you anything else?” She asked. “That muffin is still warm, just out of the oven. New batch. You should eat it first, so it don’t get cold.”

  “This is fine,” I said, looking at the plate. “I don’t think I can eat all this.”

  “Sure you can,” she smiled. “The secret is one bite at a time. Try it,” she winked and left us.